AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Beaux-Arts de Paris.”
“It shows.”
“Lucien was an excellent draftsman,” said Françoise Vionnet. “But unfortunately he was never terribly successful. He made ends meet painting copies.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Lucien painted copies of Impressionist paintings and sold them in the gift shops of the Lubéron. He also worked for a company that sold hand-painted copies online. He was paid more for those, but not much. Maybe twenty-five euros. He produced them very quickly. He could paint a Monet in fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“Do you happen to have one?”
“Non. Lucien found the work very embarrassing. Once the paintings were dry, he delivered them to his clients.”
Outside, the girl extracted herself from the pool and stretched her body on a chaise longue. Whether she was clothed or not Gabriel could not say, for he was contemplating what was clearly the finest painting in the room. It bore a distinct resemblance to a work calledLes Amoureux aux Coquelicots, by the French-Russian artist who had lived for a time on the rue de la Fontaine Basse in Gordes. Not an exact copy, more a pastiche. The original was signed in the bottom-right corner. Lucien Marchand’s version had no signature at all.
“He was a great admirer of Chagall,” said Françoise Vionnet.
“As am I. And if I didn’t know better, I would have thought that Chagall painted it himself.” Gabriel paused. “Or perhaps that was the point.”
“Lucien painted his Chagalls purely for pleasure. That’s why there’s no signature.”
“I’m prepared to make you a generous offer for it.”
“I’m afraid it’s not for sale, Monsieur Ziegler.”
“May I ask why not?”
“Sentimental reasons. It was the last painting Lucien completed.”
“Forgive me, Madame Vionnet. But I can’t recall the date of his death.”
“It was the seventeenth of September.”
“Five years ago?”
“Oui.”
“That’s odd.”
“Why, monsieur?”
“Because this painting appears much older than that. In fact, it looks to me as though it was painted in the late nineteen forties.”
“Lucien used special techniques to make his paintings appear older than they really were.”
Gabriel took down the painting from the wall and turned it over. The canvas was at least a half-century old, as was the stretcher. Theupper horizontal bar was stamped with a6and anF. On the center bar were the remnants of an old adhesive sticker.
“And did Lucien have special techniques for aging his canvases and stretchers as well? Or did he have a ready supplier of worthless old paintings?”
Françoise Vionnet regarded Gabriel calmly with her heavy-lidded eyes. “Get out of my house,” she said through gritted teeth. “Or I’ll sic the dog on you.”
“If that dog comes anywhere near me, I’m going to shoot it. And then I’m going to call the French police and tell them that you and your daughter are living off the money that Lucien Marchand earned forging paintings.”
Her full lips curled into a slight smile. Evidently, she didn’t frighten easily. “Who are you?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
She looked at Christopher. “And him?”
